The "I'll Let You Cut In Front Of Me Even Though There Was A Sign That Said Merge Here Fifty Yards Back" Award.

All kinds of awards.

Getting an award is the grease that helps us slide through the gray days. The days we're stuck in cubicles. The days we're stuck in airports. The days we're stuck with ourselves, magnifying glass in one hand, microscope in the other, watching the microbes crawling around in our own navels and wondering how anyone in the universe could ever find us lovable.

Have you seen these photos?

You Are Here

You Are Still Here, Right Under Uranus Somewhere.Wave! Go Ahead Wave And Maybe I Can See You!

Heeellllooooo Down There Small Human Being!You Are In The Wegman's Supermarket Parking LotSaying A Little Prayer That A Spot OpensCloser To The Front Of The Store.What? It's Raining, You Say?And Your Back Molar Is Still Bothering You?OOoooohhhh, We're Traveling Back, Traveling Back...I Can Barely See You...

Oh No! The Upstairs Toilet Backed Up!Damn, I Need To Get This Fixed Right Now!We Just Painted The Kitchen CeilingAnd I Don't Want To Have To Replaster Again!

drat...I lost a sock.

Swear to petunia, the first time I saw these photos, I both regained a bit of my faith in God, and at the same time felt a great Zen quietness in knowing that I am so infinitesimally small that, really...if I never get that novel written, if I should double-dip the salsa, if my desk is cluttered with naked Barbies and a plate with a half-eaten cheese sandwich, if I forget to get my Masters Degree in anything, if I never see the Charlie The Tuna statue in PagoPago...

Well, my friend, it's not all as big a deal as I once thought.

Phew.

And if I do someday get to PagoPago, then that's swell too.

Anyway, this all gets back to awards.

Is there a Supreme Being watching all that goes on here on our tiny dot and helping us to find proximity parking spots at Wegmans'?

Well, that's a question for the philosophers and poets. And maybe some otherbloggers.

As for Zen nothingness, let's face it. I can't be Zen nothingness 24 hours a day, because then for certain the dishwasher would never get unloaded.

So even if The Big Guy is watching out for us, surely, in the measly ninety or so years we're each of us going to be here (assuming that you all are exercising regularly and drinking wheat grass juice), surely we should get more awards for all those times we ants survive being stepped on, or the times we move mountains, whether those mountains are the size of Everest...or just the size of a desktop rubbertree plant.

Because, from Betelguese, both those mountains look about the same.

Now, without further ado (I always want to spell that "adieu").....

This weeks' Halushki Award goes to...

me.

Yes, me.

I giving myself a goddamn award.

Here it is.

I'm giving it to me because I got this post in under the wire.

I'm giving myself an award because I had ten kids at my house today - and a toddler - and we all made papelpicado during Spanish Club. And I fed all these kids in my house. And I got a few of them to sweep my floor afterwards.

Go me!

I'm giving myself an award because I found ten minutes to sit down and play piano. And I played badly. And I still enjoyed the experience immensely.

I'm giving myself an award because I haven't showered in two days, and I don't stink (if I do say so myself.)

And finally, I'm giving myself an award because Hotdamn! I was given an award, and by the talented and prolific Ms. Julie.

This award is, "Presented to awesome blog owners who keep their readers excited about their posts. Their blog posts are interesting and worth reading and keep their readers looking forward to each and every post."

Well, shut my mouth.

It is with humble gratitude that I accept this award for being...interesting.

And I mean that about myself in the best way possible.

Eh-hem.

And let's go just absolutely crazy, shall we?

I'm going to pass along this award to

My sister. For having the good sense to be my sister, and for having the chutzpah to give herself her own award. And gaddurnnit, she's hilarious.

Moobs. There are only two lawyers who can keep me coming back for more. Moobs is the other one.

i-obsess. For having the most beautiful navel on the face of Earth and Betelgeuse. ("Navel on the face"...hmmmmm.) I could watch her stare into it for hours. ETA: Just to be clear, lildb is wonderfully introspective with the voice of a poet...none of that dark longing so often associated with navel-gazing. She soul mine's with a circle of dazzling light around her head, like St. Lucia's mid-winter crown.

Omega Mom. For writing like the pros do it. And for inviting me to visit her in Alaska. Which she hasn't done yet. But, I've given her an award now, so...just tell me when and what to pack.

Woot! Woot! Woot!

Next week, I'll have a spanking new Halushki Award button. I'd like others to pass this award around liberally.

now I wish I *had* been a cross-over Brazilian pop-star-attempter. then I'd at least have a photo of my navel (thanks to the "costume" I was planning on for the whole gig), instead of this misshapen frowny-thing currently residing in the sorta-middling center of my tummy.

p.s. while I do deserve being described as naval-gazer-extraordinare, I don't think I deserve the other stuff. granted, being a devoted NG (got tired of writing it out, I'm lady slothy-sloth) does leave precious little time for having any clarity re: others' perceptions of said NG behaviors. and to that I say, uh. please? don't acknowledge me as I NG to my heart's content? but then will you still please occasionally sneak glances, just so I know I'm not completely alone in this giant, white room made up of a series of tubes?

also? I really think I could possibly die from the happiness of knowing that you're even aware of my existence. that alone is enough. but to receive an award? kind of makes me want to go sit on a ledge and suck my thumb, and maybe rock a bit; after all, what else is there? what else can there possibly be in this teeny-tiny life of the human pipsqueak?

As per requested, I will not acknowledge lildb as a navel-gazer to her heart's content. (Although, I will say that the best part of any navel-gazing is in the writing about it; it's comforting to know that what they say is true: when it comes to navels, really, our DNA analysis proves that we are all staring at the same navel, though on different tummies.

I will stand by my award to i-obsess as being interesting and worthy of reading every post.

I will also here and now and in front of these witnesses testify that I ma envious as all get out over her new kitchen. Deloverly!

no, NO! Jozet, o, blogger whose name conjures up the best of everything there ever was, like an ice cream fountain in one's bedroom, a la Tony and Tia's fantasy room at the mansion of the creepy, old man in the eponymous 1970s Disney movie, Escape To Witch Mountain, or at least it was eponymous to me at the tender age of 6, and I'm sure it would make the bile rise in my belly and protest, anyway, I was saying how you're awesome and see? the add, it kicketh my ass, anyway, you are awesome and I'm so honored that you would acknowledge me in any way and to be told you think I'm awesome back just hurts because you're too awesome for me. we need to break up because you've slummed re: being my blog-friend. don't you see that? argh.

on taking the slum and making slum-onade: Jozet, 1. lildb, bright-red-zero.

I can't believe that a) I said eponymous in regard to that movie, when I meant infamous, and b) I didn't finish the thought about how it might make me sick if I tried to watch it now, because it may not actually do that, because it may still totally rule because I am an eternal 6-y.o. Oh, and c) I can't believe you haven't done the math yet, Jozet, and realized that I am unworthy. Thou slummeth and find naught in the place where there should be glory and refined beauty, albeit the potty-training-toddler-pee-drenched kind.

*sighs and attempts to clutch laptop to chest like she used to with her journal when her breast stormed, realizes how awkward that feels because the laptop is damn heavy, sighs over how nothing is the same anymore. except the thought of having an ice-cream fountain in one's bedroom, next to a full-sized marionette-theatre stage, plus a full troupe of marionettes that one can make dance by using one's mind, while playing a harmonica. wickedly. that's still the same*

On the wall of my office I have a picture of Jupiter taken by Hubble. Before I go to court I like to remind myself that he ed spot is a storm of tremndous violence and unimaginable scale that has had winds of gas raging for centuries. Somehow it is then difficult to see whatever dispute I am dealing with as being that big a deal.

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